Asexual
by EpicNinjaSushi
Summary: When life seems to work against you, and every one of your hopes and dreams of being loved are harshly destroyed, it might be easier to consider asexuality. (Though it may be impossible to fully achieve.)[Human AU]


Matthew could tell by the looks he got.

Nobody _really _liked him. They all pretended- Gilbert for popularity, and Alfred because they were related. No one else even tried to be amiable, everyone had either heard a rumor or experienced his "bad side" firsthand.

He didn't want to be so socially inadequate. It was instinct, his way of surviving. He was left alone.

For the most part.

A minority of his acquaintances, the braver, more idiotic ones, would send catcalls and punches at him as he slumped through the hallways.

"Hey, Maddy!" the voice belonged to one of his long-time tormentors, Ivan Braginsky. Speak of the devil.

He wanted to be brave, yell at him, do _something_, but as always, he didn't.

"Maddy! I was talking to Gilbert today!" the Russian was walking adjacent to him now. He could feeling the pain of the upcoming hit.

"He was saying how much of a faggot you were, Maddy," Ivan paused for dramatic effect, "And I said that you should never call a girl a 'faggot'. But you know what? He said you were a boy!"

Oh, how he would love to punch his big, stupid-ass, Russian nose. Why did they have to take the same class _on the other side of the school_?

"I would have never known, though. He said that you always go in the bathroom stalls when you change for gym. But then it clicked for me- because you would have to do that if you didn't blush every time Gilbert takes his shirt off."

He could feel his cheeks warming with the last of Ivan's harsh words.

He didn't-

That wasn't why-

Only _part _of the reason why he-

Matthew pushed passed him and made a sharp turn towards Biology.

Braginsky tripped him as he did so.

What the bloody hell had he done in his past life to make God hate him this much?

* * *

When they were finally dismissed, Matthew was the first out of the classroom.

In his hurry, he happened to bump into Gilbert. Oh, joy.

"Hey, Birdie~" Gilbert forced a smile. It was more of a leer, from his perspective.

Like a charity case.

Ha.

More of a basket case.

"Just call me Matthew, please, Gilbert." He muttered and quickened his pace. _So _awkward.

Gilbert was straight, no doubt about it. You could just watch the way he kissed his girlfriend, the pretty Hungarian girl, and you would know. Or how he flirted with anything feminine and pretty enough until they gave him their numbers.

All of his hope of any genuine affection dissolved a long time ago.

But dissolved is such a general word.

Broken? Shattered? Brutally massacred over and over again every day for the rest of his life until he committed suicide?

Something like that.

* * *

By the time the bus had reached his stop, it was pouring rain and the thunder was nearly deafening. Alfred had hitched a ride with his totally-not-boyfriend, Arthur Kirkland.

Not that Matthew minded, or anything.

Alfred usually stayed for dinner when he visited the Kirkland's, so freedom was a given.

Now he could be home alone in that ridiculous mansion of his for a few hours until his Papa came home from whatever the hell he did for a living.

Freedom was only blocked by the fact that there was nothing to do.

He couldn't cook, couldn't clean (they had people for that anyway), couldn't create anything musical whatsoever, couldn't draw, and homework was always easier during his frequent insomnia spells.

So a walk it is, then. A little rain never hurt anyone, eh?

* * *

Fifteen minutes into his walk, he was nothing short of completely drenched. But he continued on. A cold would be nice. He could miss school. Be alone. Not see anyone.

He was headed towards that little park he always used to go to when he was in elementary school.

How he loved that time. When everyone was your friend and you could be cute and stupid and nobody would give single fuck.

Or at least, that's how life had been (actually, still was) for Alfred. Matthew was that short, skinny, dorky kid who always sat on the swings and read some chapter book way beyond his reading level. His teachers would have praised him if it weren't for his inability to speak in class. Not his fault he was so shy.

On the incredibly rare occasion that his brother would manage to drag him into a game of Tag or Fish Out of Water or whatever the hell kids called things, he would automatically be deemed "It", and become subject to running after a bunch of his peers with his eyes closed and praying he wouldn't get a concussion when he crashed head-first into a slide for the umpteenth time.

Matthew had never gotten that far, though. As soon as his classmates had run away or hid or whatever, he would casually stride back to the swing set and resume reading.

If they tried to call him back to the game, he would ignore them until they had the decency to leave him alone.

He was on that same swing set now, but the seats had been replaced for new, comfier ones and the chains were coated in some rubbery material. Nice of the city to fund that.

He began to lazily swing back and forth. He gained momentum, propelled himself higher, continued to pump until he reached the point where he could close his eyes and pretend he was flying.

It was enjoyable, to say the least. The storm only enhanced the feeling.

A particularly loud clap of thunder and bright flash of lightning knocked him out of his daze.

He jumped off and began the trek home.

He would take his time.

* * *

He stepped out of the steamy bathroom, only a towel around his waste to hide his dignity.

Matthew glanced in the mirror out of curiosity, not vanity. Gone were the days of thinking highly of himself.

Staring back at him was a pale boy who looked like he needed to get some more sleep and eat more. You could see the bags under his eyes and his ribcage was very visible indeed.

He didn't even have anorexia. It was hereditary. Alfred was just the same when he was younger.

_"But Alfred is captain of the football team."_

Maybe he should kill himself.

* * *

Matthew woke up on Friday after less than two hours of inconsistent sleep at six o' clock in the morning.

The bus arrived at seven thirty, so now he was forced to be lazy for a while.

After a quick shower and a breakfast of instant oatmeal, Matthew was sitting cross-legged on one of the Italian leather couches in the T.V. room, flipping through the channels in an attempt to find something that wasn't news.

He decided on a cheesy, poorly scripted sitcom about impossibly beautiful and rich people.

"I just dunno what to do," the busty woman on the screen was saying, "I mean, I love him, but he's got my sister as a girlfriend!"

The woman's equally busty friend gave her a tight hug and began to talk about her own problems.

This went on for several minutes until Matthew finally got the decency to change the channel.

The image on the screen became a gay couple making out passionately on a beach.

He shut the television off after that.

* * *

The first half of the school day had gone pretty well, and that was despite the fact that he'd had Physical Education earlier.

Now, though, it was lunch, which Matthew wasn't eating because he'd forgotten to study for his French test last night.

He sat alone, as always, on the opposite side of the cafeteria from Ivan and his comrades. Usually, they left him alone, preoccupied with hitting on hot girls.

Today, though, there was an exception, when he was was grabbed roughly by the back of his neck and dragged to the boys' bathroom. Matthew whimpered rather effeminately as he was shoved against a wall by Rex Carson, a jock that he recognized from Al's team who only allied himself with Braginsky for the sake of tormenting Matthew.

"Tell me, faggot," he hissed, "Is it true you're also an emo pussy?"

"I don't know what your talking about." he replied in a surprisingly strong voice.

For his bravery, he received a punch in the jaw. Stars danced in front of his eyes.

"Bonnefoy told me he saw you cutting yourself. Is it true?"

Matthew, still dazed, stood up a little straighter and moved his face closer to Rex's. "You wish, fucker." he whispered, and stuck his tongue out, his conscience screaming in protest as he did so.

Rex's fist was drawn back for what looked like a nasty punch in the stomach, when the door swung open and three people entered.

His breath hitched in his throat when he saw who they were- the infamous Bad Touch Trio.

And that meant Gilbert.

"Birdie?" the ever-oblivious German (or Prussian, as he preferred) asked with a tilt of his head.

He pushed past Carson, who was frozen in mid-punch, "Go to hell." he whispered as he half-ran out the door.

He was just getting back to his studying when-

"Birdie, can we talk?"

_No, _he wanted to say, _please go away. _But all it took was one glance into those ever-beautiful ruby eyes...

"Fine, Gilbert."

He sat down in front of him, and began to speak in his wonderfully smooth, perfectly accented voice. "Listen, Birdie, I know you and I were friends in elementary school. And now I'm hearing from people that you're, um, gay for-"

"I'm not gay." Matthew cut him off sharply, then added for good measure, "I'm actually in love with someone else."

Gilbert was miraculously easy to distract. His lips stretched into a slightly crooked smile. "Really? With who?"

He hesitated, and then began the lying. "She's goes to my cousin's school in Illinois. I doubt you've ever met her- she goes by Carrie?"

Antonio's expression didn't falter. "That's romantic, Birdie!" he paused, "I sound like Antonio, don't I?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Tell me more about her!" He gushed in a horrible imitation of a Spanish accent.

Matthew rolled his eyes and tried to play along. "Well, um, she's really beautiful, but she's also had the same boyfriend for three years, and she's really happy with him. And I doubt she likes me." Gender-swapping his own life story was harder than lying, especially when he was reciting it to Gilbert.

The boy's face fell, leaving sympathy behind. "I'm sorry, dude. You probably really love her." Back to his normal voice, as though he cared.

"What do you think I should do?" He was seriously asking the person he was in love with for love advice?

"Well, if you're heart's stuck on her, don't give up." Gilbert stood up and began walking back to his friends. Over his shoulder, he said, "The only other choice is living alone forever."

Option B it is, then. He stared at his momentarily forgotten French textbook.

_"Je t'aime." _it read.

"I love you." he whispered to the pages.


End file.
